Pink Triangle: The Feuds and Private Lives of Tennessee Williams, Gore Vidal, Truman Capote, and Famous Members of Their Entourages (Blood Moon's Babylon Series) (10 page)

Bernstein told the men, “When the revolution comes, you two will be stood up against a wall and shot.
[You’re]
totally worthless to society.”

Tennessee noted that Bernstein was going through a period known as his “radical chic.”

“I wonder if he is not as true a revolutionary as I am,” Tennessee wrote. “The difference between us is that I am not interested in shooting piss-elegant queens or anyone else. I am only interested in the discovery of a new social system—certainly not communist, but an enlightened form of socialism.”

He later referred to Bernstein as “a total egotist. When not getting all the attention, he sits in a chair with closed eyes, pretending to be asleep.”

Bernstein’s opinion of Tennessee was expressed as part of a laconic postscript in a letter sent to his former lover, Aaron Copland. “Tennessee Williams is here in Mexico City—
que fastidio, [translation: “What a pain!”]

Bernstein would enjoy a more enduring friendship with Gore Vidal.

[Gore and Leonard Bernstein were attracted to the same type of man, including the short, stocky, blue-eyed dancer, Harold Lang, who had starred in the Jerome Robbin’s ballet
, Fancy Free.
It was about three World War II sailors “on the town,” as the movie musical based on it would later be entitled. The 1949 film would co-star Gene Kelly and Frank Sinatra
.

At Gore’s home in Ravello, Italy, the composer and author talked of past conquests, including Lang. “I will say that Harold’s was one of the seven—or whatever number it is—wonders of our time,” Bernstein told Gore, who agreed
.

Through a mutual friend, Bernstein and Gore had attended a homosexual orgy in the upper rooms of the American Embassy in Rome. Eight grade-A Roman hustlers had been hired as the evening’s entertainment
.

When Gore was in Hollywood for the filming of his play
, The Best Man (1964),
he and Bernstein shared adjoining bungalows at the Beverly Hills Hotel
.

Gore later wrote: “As Lenny was eager for sex, I arranged for two would-be actors to join us for the evening. At some point, Lenny vanished into his own quarters wearing only a towel and a happy smile.”

He disappeared for such a long time that Gore feared he might have been murdered by the hustler. He opened the connecting door between their two suites, finding the young man sitting nude with an equally nude Bernstein on his bed. “In the afterglow of sex, Lennie was lecturing the actor on the art of per forming. Lenny was a born pedant.”

By the time Bernstein paid a final visit to Gore’s vacation retreat at Ravello in 1987, there were no more orgies. Gore later claimed, “We spent a lot of time bad-mouthing President Ronald Reagan. For amusement, and over sundowners on my terrace overlooking the Amalfi Drive, we speculated on the exact measurements of Reagan’s dick. We combined our sources of information, ranging from Susan Hayward to Lana Turner. Doris Day wasn’t talking.”

Gore went to his grave without revealing their ultimate conclusion about the presidential penis
.

Both men left the comparisons of such measurements to Truman Capote, who billed himself as “the world’s expert on the size of presidential dicks, beginning with John F. Kennedy and extending to Lyndon B. Johnson and on to Richard M. Nixon.”

At long last, and after many a struggle,
Battle of Angels
was set to open in Boston on December 30, 1940, at the Wilbur Theatre, with hopes of taking it to Broadway after a two-week run.

Designated as its director, Margaret Webster, who knew nothing about life in a Southern town, was an unusual choice. “I’d been to Washington, but never crossed into Virginia and points south,” she said.

The New York-born actress, producer, and director held a dual citizenship. She was the daughter of two famous actors, Ben Webster and Dame May Whitty. Ben Webster had already scored his greatest triumph, directing Paul Robeson in
Othello (1943)
, with José Ferrer cast as Iago. It had played for 296 performances, by far the longest run of any Shakespearean production in the history of Broadway till then.

When Tennessee met Margaret Webster, she was involved in a longtime romantic relationship with Eva Le Gallienne, one of the most celebrated actresses of the American theater.

Webster later recalled meeting the playwright: “He was a short, sturdy, young man with crew-cut hair, pebble-thick glasses, and an even thicker Southern accent, dressed in shabby corduroy jacket and muddy riding boots.”

Webster introduced him to Miriam Hopkins, who had been assigned to star in the play’s leading role of Myra, the character’s name later changed to Lady Torrance.

After having great success as a film star in the 1930s, Savannah-born Hopkins had scored a number of triumphs at Paramount, especially during the pre-Code era. Her other successes had included three films with Ernst Lubitsch and
The Old Maid
(1939) with her arch-enemy, Bette Davis.

Based on the outfit he was wearing, Hopkins mistakenly assumed that Tennessee was fresh from riding horseback. He had to assure her, “I will never be Tom Mix. I can’t ride a horse.”

Although known as a difficult actress to work with, she was imbued with Southern charm and graciousness, and even invited him to a champagne-infused supper later that evening. He knew she was “between husbands,” having divorced the famous director Anatole Litvak in 1939.

After having been teamed with Davis once again in
Old Acquaintance
(1943), Hopkins seemed to have bowed out of films. “I didn’t desert them,” she told Tennessee. “No offers were coming in, and that’s why I’ve turned to the stage.”

Arriving at her hotel suite in Boston, Tennessee feared that she might be intent on seduction. She told him that her favorite line in his play was when Val Xavier is told that all the women in this southern town were suffering from “sexual malnutrition.”

“That line could describe my current state of affairs, or I should say ‘lack of affairs,’” Hopkins said.

She amused him with stories of Hollywood in the 1930s. “When I can’t sleep, I don’t count sheep,” she said. “I count lovers. And by the time I reach thirty-eight or thirty-nine, I’m asleep. I usually start with actors—Fredric March, Robert Montgomery, Bing Crosby, Maurice Chevalier (he couldn’t get it up), Gary Cooper, Franchot Tone, John Gilbert; or else directors—King Vidor or Ernst Lubitsch.”

She expressed how embarrassing it had been for her in Boston: “This year,
The Harvard Lampoon
picked me as ‘the least desirable companion on a desert island.’”

Hopkins was no dumb blonde Hollywood actress. She was sharp and insightful, shocking Tennessee when she surmised that “You are actually Myra. And the character you write about, Val Xavier, is the kind of man who makes you swoon, makes you feel helpless, erotic, in love.”

“You’ve nailed me,” he admitted to her.

After the champagne was consumed, Hopkins finally got around to revealing the purpose of their late night supper. She wanted her part greatly enlarged at the expense of the other performers, notably actress Doris Dudley. She also lobbied for a rewrite. “At the end of the play, when I’m shot, I want the character of Val Xavier to carry me up the stairs. That way, I will remain the center of attention on stage, even though dead.”

He would later claim that there was a glittering, hot-tempered ferocity to her that would make her ideal in the role. “She has a great Southern pride, typical of her native Georgia, and a feeling of superiority over others. She is one high-spirited blonde with the subtlety of a wrestler in a to-the-death match.”

She did ask him a question which he never answered: “How can a play or a motion picture reflect real life when it is created by people who lead artificial lives?”

Even before he left her suite, he knew he was going to reject all of her ideas for script changes. The problem involved summoning enough courage to tell her the next day.

When forced to deliver the bad news to her, she attacked him on a sexual level. “I bet you’re a premature ejaculator, a real fast starter and a lousy finisher.”

“At lease she didn’t call me a faggot,” he later said. “But in front of cast and crew, Miriam made me feel like two cents—and two inches.”

Hopkins and Tennessee did not nurture a grudge and by the time the play opened, they were defending each other artistically. He said, “Miriam could have been an Amanda to rival even Laurette Taylor in
The Glass Menagerie
. What I liked about her was her love of literature and her ability to recite by heart the poems of Lord Byron, Rossetti, and William Cullen Bryant’s ‘Thanatopsis.’”

Opening night was disastrous. Many in the audience of tuxedos and expensive gowns thought they were going to see a play about angels. As part of the scenery, an artist had created a backdrop depicting Val Xavier as Jesus Christ. There was a rumbling the audience and cries of “blasphemy.”

Before the play ended, half of the audience had walked out. Those who remained for the final curtain were nearly asphyxiated. The script called for a building to catch on fire. Smoke pots had been placed about and lit, but too many were added. Both the cast and the audience went into coughing fits.

The next morning, critics were harsh. The New York critic for
Variety
(who was in Boston for the event), defined
Battle of Angels
as “sordid and amateurish.” Tennessee said that the Boston audience “received my play like the outbreak of the Bubonic plague.”

The Boston City Council was deluged with phone calls, mostly from people who had not seen the play. There were protests that
Battle of Angels
should be forcibly closed.

Members of Boston’s City Council met with Webster and Tennessee, demanding the removal of some of the scenes and lines in the play as a condition for letting its short run continue.